Give an Inch, Take a Mile
by a.lakewood
Summary: WINCEST. Part 4 of the Distance 'Verse. Sam and Dean are in their senior years of high school and college, respectively. It's been a while since they've had a chance to be together, but Sam's got a plan.


**Title:** Give an Inch, Take a Mile [Part Four of the Distance 'Verse]  
**Author****: ** alakewood  
**Warnings:** AU. Wincest. Kink (crossdressing).  
**Rating: ** NC-17  
**Word Count: ** ~3400  
**Summary:** Sam and Dean are in their senior years of high school and college, respectively. It's been a while since they've had a chance to be together, but Sam's got a plan.  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.  
**Previously:** _A Thousand Miles to Get There_, _And All This Distance in Between_, and _So Close, Yet So Far Away._

**oxoxo**

Sam's senior year sneaks right up on him. He's spent the summer working with his dad at the garage while Dean's been stuck in Columbia fulfilling secretarial/front office duties at the clinic he hopes to intern for during _his_ senior year. Sam never failed to rag on him for his girly job while Sam himself is nearly as grease-stained as their father. They still text frequently, talk on the phone when they can, and visit each other as often as possible, which really isn't often at all. Dean's got classes, his job, events at his frat, and training, and Sam's got school, track and swim team practice, an hour or two a day at the garage, debate and a few other extra-curriculars, _and_ two college classes through the Johnson County CC.

Once school starts, they don't find an opportunity to talk on the phone until the middle of September. It's Sunday night and Sam's in bed, calling Dean instead of replying to his text of, _wish you were here to help me relieve some of this stress :)_

They haven't _relieved_ any _stress_ since Sam's birthday back in May and have only caught each other the phone for more than a five-minute catch-up conversation six times since then.

Dean sounds half asleep when he answers, causing Sam to glance at the alarm clock beside his bed. It's only quarter after nine – Dean must be pretty worn out if he's nearly sacked out this early. "Hey, Sam," Dean says, voice a little deeper, a little rougher than usual.

"Hey. What're you doing?"

Dean yawns. "Nothing. Laying here, watching a _Dr. Who_ rerun, talking to you."

"You in bed?"

Dean hums in affirmation. "Why?"

"Thought you needed some stress relief?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean half-groans, smile evident in his voice. "What've you got in mind?"

"Oh, I don't know," Sam sighs, pausing to listen to muffled sound of the TV through his door from his parents' room down the hall. He reaches over to turn of his lamp before reclining back against his pillows, hand not holding his phone skimming down his bare belly to shove down his shorts. "If I was there with you?"

"Yeah?" He sounds breathless already.

"I'd hold you down on your mattress, kiss you 'til we couldn't breathe. Get my hand down your pants, stroke you 'til you're hard and leaking all wet and messy."

"_Fuck_, Sammy."

Sam laughs, hand curled loosely around his throbbing dick. "No...I'd move down, get between your knees. Slowly undo the button of your jeans and pull down your zipper. I'd drag it out, make you beg for me touch you again."

"God. Want it-" Dean's breath hitches on a gasp, "want it so bad."

"Know you do, big brother. Wouldn't even get you naked, gotta taste you. I'd pull down your boxers just enough to get your dick out, suck you down as far as I can go."

All Sam can hear is Dean's harsh panting, interspersed with _God,_ _Sam,_ and _yeah._

"Wouldn't even hold your hips down, Dean. Let you fuck my mouth." Sam bites at his own lip in an attempt to muffle the whimper the memory of doing just that drags up out of him.

"Fuck. Look so good with your mouth stretched all wide for my cock."

"Oh, God, Dean. Gonna come." It's not going to take Sam much more, hearing Dean so close to losing it himself.

"Me, too. So close...Come for me, Sammy."

"Yeah, yeah." One stroke, two, press of his fingers against that bundle of nerves beneath the head on the underside of his dick and he's shooting thick, wet ropes of come up over his belly.

"Jesus fuck," Dean grunts, air slowly pushing from his lungs in a whine that Sam's come to associate with the sound of Dean coming over the phone when he's not alone in the house he shares with Aaron and Tony and a bunch of other frat guys Sam can't remember the names of.

Sam trails his fingers through the mess on his stomach as he listens to Dean's breath even out. "Feelin' relaxed now?"

Dean laughs, loud and bright. "Yeah, Sammy."

"Mm. Me, too."

There's a long pause where they just listen to each other breathing over the line. "So. How are things?"

"Good. Jack somehow convinced me to, um, Nair my arms and legs." Sam shifts against his sheets, movement slightly constricted by his shorts around his thighs, feels the smooth skin of his calves glide over the cotton. "S'posed to make us swim faster. Feels really weird."

Dean nearly cackles. "I bet. Who's the girl now?"

"Fuck you."

"Maybe the next time you see me."

"I might hold you to that." If Sam gets his way, that could actually be a whole lot sooner than Dean thinks. "What've you got going on this week?" He remembers Dean mentioning this would be Hell week for the new pledges when they talked last Wednesday, that Dean and the rest of his frat brothers were still trying to figure out what hilarious and horrible trials and tribulations to put the pledges through.

"Work, mostly. I've got a paper due Friday. And we've got the party for Saturday figured out."

"Yeah? What're you guys making your new little bros do this time?"

"They've gotta put together a party."

"And?" Because that's just way too easy. Sam remembers Dean regaling him with the tale of his Hell week experience, the things he was forced to go through from being on-call for a full twenty-four hours to do his big brother Jeremy's bidding to cleaning all three bathrooms in the frat to the half-naked half-marathon he had to participate in to the last test of The Party. Dean and his fellow pledges had been tasked with a Roaring Twenties speakeasy theme. There had been sequestered rooms and burlesque girls and a bunch of other stuff that Dean wouldn't tell him.

"Dude looks like a lady," Dean says.

"What?" Sam's not exactly following.

"They gotta dress up in drag. We're pairing up with the Teke's for a bash at our house. It's gonna be pretty epic if the pledges can pull it off."

"Sounds like it." Sam's pretty sure he can beg off a weekend at the garage, head over to Columbia Saturday afternoon. It won't be too difficult to get into the party now that he knows what Dean's brothers will be looking for.

They talk more about school and work as Sam plots how he's going to surprise his brother. By the time ten rolls around, Dean's just about snoring into Sam's ear, so they say goodbye.

Pulling off his shorts the rest of the way, Sam wipes at the dry come on his belly, smiles to himself as he plans a trip to Goodwill after school tomorrow and climbs underneath his sheet to go to sleep.

**oxo**

Dean pries the cap off his third bottle of beer with the silver ring Sam got him for his birthday this year. He grins as he flips the steel lid at Chuck as he heads into the kitchen from the deck. His pledge is decked out in a pair of white skinny jeans that look like they're strangling his boys and a cropped, sparkly pink tank top that shows off his excessively hairy stomach. Chuck teeters on the short heels of his strappy sandals and flips Dean the bird.

Dean makes his rounds, says his hellos, laughs at some of the atrocious makeup and ridiculous outfits of the twenty-odd pledges milling about making sure everybody's got a drink in their hand. He works his way through the house, passing through the living room where the DJ is set up, pushes through the close-pressed bodies moving together to the thump-wub of some dubstep remix of some pop song. The colored lights set high in the corners of the room flash and flicker, make him feel like he's moving in slow-motion until he reaches the staircase and its even, flat white light.

It's his turn for room-duty, checking for any wandering party-goers, making sure that nobody has snuck into his brother's rooms for a quickie or a quick hit of whatever drug is cool this week. He starts on the third floor and works his way down, only having to kick a couple out of Wes's room. As he comes down the steps, he sees Chuck standing in the front doorway with a tall brunette, gesturing towards the staircase emphatically before taking the girl by arm and starting towards him.

Chuck palms his blonde wig and shifts it until the curls are out of his face, leads the girl over to the foot of the stairs. "Here he is," Chuck tells the girl with a wide grin before glancing at Dean with a waggle of his eyebrows and carefully wobbling off into the crowd.

Dean leans in, eying the miles of the girl's toned, long legs that are revealed by her very short skirt – the view doesn't do much for him, but he knows how to appreciate an attractive body – tilts his head down to ask, "Were you looking for me?"

The girl nods, dark hair brushing against the side of Dean's face as she moves in closer, lays a warm hand low on his belly. "Yeah," she says, voice almost too quiet and a little raspy. Dean can admit it's kind of sexy, if not a little familiar.

Gently, Dean takes her wrist and moves her hand away. "Sorry, I'm seeing someone. What do you need?" Out of the corner of his eye, he finally catches a clear glimpse of the girls face as she grins and she's not a girl at all. "What the fuck? Sammy? What the hell are you doing here?"

Sam shifts in closer, presses one smooth leg between Dean's knees, leans up to his brother's ear. "Just wanted to see you. Thought I'd try passing as one of the pledges but I think I did a little too good with my disguise."

Dean leans back just enough to look down at his brother, the put-together look of the short jean skirt, the Mizzou Tigers hoodie, glossy hair, and subtle makeup. The only things out of place are Sam's Adam's apple and the hugeness of his feet in his flip flops. Dean has to laugh at the fact that Sam's gotten so much into his character that even his toenails are painted a soft yellow that nearly matches the gold of the school colors. "I'd say." Sam dressed up like a girl to sneak into a frat party to see him. So they can be together in public goes unsaid. "Fuckin' A, Sammy."

"You gonna get your _girl_ a beer, or what?" Sam reaches a hand down to thread their fingers together, gives them a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah. Come on, _Samantha._" He's careful to keep Sam in shadow as much as he can because there are a few of his brothers that will recognize his brother if they get more than a cursory glance of the tall 'girl' beside him. Others will either assume what Chuck did or think Sam's a Teke pledge. Regardless, he's not taking his chances, pops open a bottle for Sam, nods at Ryan from across the deck when his frat brother tilts his head in Sam's direction with a raise of his eyebrows. He gets a toast and a lascivious leer back and ushers Sam back into the house where it's darker.

It's the first time they've ever been able to be this close in public in the four years they've been together and it's a heady rush knowing he can touch Sam the way he does when they're behind locked doors with all these people around.

Sam holds his body close to Dean's, alternately sipping at his beer and sucking at Dean's neck. After Dean's fifth or sixth beer, he's kissing Sam back, hand slipping down his brother's hip to the frayed hem of his skirt to feel the smooth skin of his thigh. He turns and presses Sam up against the wall, blocking him from view of the crush of people dancing in the living room. Nobody's paying them any mind as Dean knocks Sam's knees apart and steps into the vee his thighs make, kissing him hard and deep and dirty as he skims his knuckles up the back of his leg and under the worn denim. His fingers graze textured fabric that clings to Sam's skin.

"Lace," Sam breathes into his ear.

"You're-" Dean can barely finish the sentence now that the thought's in his head. "Are you wearing panties?"

Sam thrusts against his hardening dick and he's surprised he can't feel Sam's own erection. "Guess you're gonna have to wait and see."

"Tease," Dean laughs as his fingertips trace the edge of the underwear before slipping underneath to find the crease of Sam's crack, delving between the firm globes of his ass to stroke against- "Jesus fucking _Christ_, Sammy. You trying to fucking _kill_ me?" Sam's hole is slick already.

"Wanted to make sure I was ready for you, Dean," he says, peering up at Dean through the fringe of bangs that falls across his eyes.

"Yeah." Dean takes Sam's beer from his hand and sets both their bottles on the first horizontal surface he sees before he's grabbing his brother by the wrist and dragging him towards the stairs. Dean locks his door once they're inside his room, turns on Sam and shoves him down onto his bed. "God, Sammy. Drive me fucking crazy."

Sam tugs off his wig, pulls at his sweatshirt and Dean starts on his skirt. "Didn't know you'd get off on this so much." His hair fans out around his head in a static mess when he collapses back onto the pillows.

"Didn't know I would, either. But, _Christ._" He pulls Sam's skirt off, careful to leave his panties in place, and looks his fill from between Sam's knees. He watches as Sam sprawls his legs wider, reaches a hand into his panties to release the jut of his cock from where it's been tucked back.

Sam groans as his dick springs up, tenting the thin, pale fabric of his panties. A dark spot immediately appears where precome is leaking from his slit. "Touch me," he begs.

Dean does him one better as he settles on his stomach between Sam's thighs and drops his head down to suck at the head of Sam's cock through the silky material. Between Dean's spit and Sam's weeping cock, the wet spot spreads, makes the fabric cling to the lines of Sam's dick like a second skin. Dean's about to cream his pants from the sight alone. "Gotta feel you, Sammy. Gonna bury myself deep inside you."

"Fuck, Dean, yeah." Sam spreads his legs wider, pulls Dean's shirt up and off over his head.

Dean shucks his jeans and boxer-briefs as Sam kicks out of his panties and draws his knees up to his shoulders, right hand skimming down the back of his thigh down to his ass where two of his fingers press into his hole with no hesitation. "Jesus."

"Come on, Dean," Sam moans, arching his back and bearing down on his fingers.

Dean crawls up Sam's body, pulls Sam's hand away as he settles back between his legs and reaches over into the top drawer of his nightstand for lube. He slicks up his cock with a couple quick strokes before pushing two of his own fingers into Sam. Two quickly becomes three when Sam starts begging. "You ready for me, Sammy?"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on." Sam reaches for Dean's hips, tries to drag him closer.

"I got you, baby brother. I got you." Dean weaves the fingers of his left hand through the fingers of Sam's right, pinning it to the mattress beside Sam's head as he takes his dick in his own right hand to guide himself to Sam's hole. "Shit, Sammy." He presses in slow until he bottoms out and just holds himself there, feeling Sam tight and hot and slick around him.

"Move, Dean. Come on and fuck me already."

"So bossy," Dean smirks, but does as Sam asks, pulling out and thrusting back into him, hard and deep. He's not going to last long like this, the clench of Sam around him too good and it's been too long since he last felt it.

Sam reaches he free hand up, fingers clutching in the short hair at the back of his head to pull him down into a kiss. "Oh- oh, God, I'm gonna-"

"Yeah? Without me even touching you? Come on, Sam, do it."

Sam gasps, throws his head back to expose the column of his throat to Dean's hungry mouth, and comes hard between them, Dean's name on his lips.

The sight of Sam beneath him, the feel of Sam's come slowly dripping down his stomach, the flutter of Sam's inner muscles around his dick, the memory of Sam in those little lacy panties – it's all too much and pushes Dean right over the edge into his own orgasm and he fills Sam up as he sucks at the pale flesh of his throat.

Sam doesn't protest when Dean collapses on top of him, smear of come and sweat between their bodies, just kisses him lazily with a grin on his face. "Too bad we can't do this more often."

"Mm," Dean grunts, wrapping his arms around Sam regardless of the heat between them. "How late you gonna stay?"

"I'll leave tomorrow morning. Probably early so nobody sees me. Mom and Dad think I'm at Ben's, so..."

"I'll set my alarm," Dean says into Sam's neck, not attempting to move.

Sam snorts, shoulders Dean off his chest so he can lean up to set Dean's alarm himself otherwise it won't get done.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean asks, pulling Sam up against his chest once he's laying back down.

"Yeah, Dean?"

"Promise me you'll keep the panties?"

Sam laughs and turns off the lamp, and Dean can feel the smile on his lips when Sam kisses him. "Sure thing."

"Good." He settles against Sam, feeling sleep pull at him.

"And maybe, next time, _you_ can wear them."

Dean snorts and doesn't dignify that with any more of a response, just presses his face into Sam's neck and falls asleep.

When he wakes in the morning, it's to Sam hovering over him on hands and knees with a slow, gentle kiss in the dark. "Here," Sam whispers, pressing something oddly soft and stiff into his hand. "You hold onto them."

The panties, Dean thinks.

"I'll see you at Thanksgiving, if not sooner." He kisses Dean again.

Before Sam can pull too far away, Dean reaches for his hand, tugs him down for one last kiss. They both ignore their sour, beer morning breath and lick into each other's mouths. "Love you."

"Love you, too. Call me later."

"I will."

"You better."

"I promise."

"Bye, Dean."

"Bye, Sammy." Dean's asleep before his door clicks shut softly. And when he wakes up for the second time, it's almost noon, the panties are still clutched in his hand, and his phone's beeping in the pocket of his abandoned jeans on the floor. He debates whether or not he really wants to get up, but it's probably Sam, and Sam's worth getting out of bed for.

And, oh. Yeah. Most _definitely_ worth getting out of bed for. It's a picture message from Sam and the picture must've been taken some time last night before he'd gotten tot he party because he's wearing the panties, blood-dark head of his cock jutting out above the lacy band. _Miss you already,_ the message says.

Dean glances at the crumpled ball of fabric in his lap and the decision's easy. _Me too. See you this weekend ;)_


End file.
